Stained
by Itsallablur
Summary: Bobby Hobbes doesn't bail on his partner. Yeah, this summary sucks. Just read it. Pretty please. *insert sad puppy dog look*


  
  
Title: Stained  
Author: Invision  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Bobby Hobbes doesn't bail on his partner.   
Spoilers: Nope  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em and I'm not making any money off 'em. Although donations are welcome. :)  
  
Notes: Thanx to my beta reader liz_z for taking care of my poor grammar. :)  
  
  
  
Stained  
  
  
It's warm between my fingers. It seeps from a hole beneath my hand. A bullet hole made from a bullet fired from my gun.  
  
It's my partner's blood. I shot my partner. But I did it because he wanted me to. God, isn't that strange? It's almost funny. I didn't even think I could do it. I don't even think he really believed I could do it.  
  
The day he asked me, the day he made me promise, wasn't too long ago. Only 3 weeks ago. We were out on an assignment. He hadn't gotten his shot like he should have, which surprised me because he's usually really good about making sure he gets his shots. He told me he was good to go though, and I went along with it. The job didn't call for much of his "unique talent" anyway. But everything didn't go according to plan, and he ended up using a little too much quicksilver.  
  
Just before he lost it, he looked me straight in the eye and made me swear that I wouldn't let him hurt anyone. He told me to shoot him, to kill him if necessary. I never thought it would come to that.  
  
We were lucky that time. He fought it right up until the moment I pulled up to the Agency. I had called the Keep and told her to be ready. She was waiting right by the curb, needle in hand.  
  
I guess everyone's luck has to run out sometime.  
  
He's staring at me. His eyes are as red as his blood. I pray, no, I beg God not to let him say anything. I don't think I can handle that. Please God...  
  
"Robert, how could you do this? I thought I was your partner, your friend?" he says quietly.  
  
I look away. I want to tell him to shut up. I want to put my hand over his mouth so he won't be able to speak. I can't stand the soft, heartless tone of his voice. I hate feeling his eyes accusing me. It's not my partner saying these things. I just have to keep telling myself that.  
  
"You're my only true friend, Robert. You're the only one I ever trusted. I trusted you with my life. I..."  
  
"Shut up!" I yell. He's grinning. I press down even harder on the wound in his chest, causing him to cry out. "Just please shut up," I plead. I feel tears in my eyes.  
  
He shuts his eyes tight and draws in a deep breath. When he reopens them, I don't see the demon, I see my partner. That's ten times worse. My partner has feelings, emotions, unlike.... It.  
  
He opens his mouth.  
  
Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell me he didn't mean it? Is he going to tell me he's going to die hating me?  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Those two words hit me like a ton of bricks. Thank you?  
  
I don't know what to say. He manages a weak smile at my shocked expression. A tear makes its way down my cheek.  
  
"You're welcome, partner."  
  
I say that because I know he means it. I did what he asked, what he wanted.  
  
Suddenly the smile fades. His eyes get this real far away look. He stops breathing. He's gone.  
  
___________________________________  
  
I must've been sitting here for ten minutes trying to think of what I'm going to tell them. I've draped my jacket over him because I'm afraid he's going to open his eyes. I know that must sound ridiculous, even for paranoid Bobby Hobbes, but those crimson eyes... They get to you. You've never had to look into them before, so you wouldn't know.  
  
What's going to happen when we get back to the Agency? Are they going to try to salvage the gland? Are they even going to care?  
  
I want to believe that at least Claire cared about Darien more than she did the gland, but sometimes I wonder where her priorities really are.  
  
I bring my hand up to my face to rub my forehead. Then I remember the blood. It's all over my hands. I have the strangest feeling that no matter how many times I wash my hands, I'll never get if off completely.  
  
I guess I better call the Official or maybe the Keeper. Yeah, I think I'd rather call her.   
  
___________________________________  
  
The funeral was nice. They buried him next to Kevin. Fawkes didn't have much family, and he really didn't have many friends. His aunt asked me to say a few words. I said that he was the best partner I'd ever had and one of the most caring people I've ever met. I meant every word. He wasn't the most experienced partner I've ever had, that's for sure, but he never let me down.  
  
Casey was there. At first that kind of surprised me. Although Fawkes did tell me once that he'd probably have to die before she'd ever have anything to do with him.   
  
"He looks so peaceful, but it's strange. The thing I loved most about him was the life in his eyes. Now that's gone," she said. Then she started crying. I tried to comfort her, but I don't think I did a very good job. It's hard to stop someone's tears when you're close to crying yourself. I didn't cry. It was hard though.  
  
That's how I felt. About his eyes I mean. They had this spark in them. Sometimes it would fade, almost disappear, but it was always there.   
  
Claire, the Official, and even Eberts came too. Claire cried. She told me that she wished she had been more human, more compassionate towards Fawkes. I believe her. I think she tried to act like her main concern was the gland for the Official.   
  
Oh yeah, the gland. They salvaged it. I don't think Claire wanted to do it. When she was done she came out with tears in her eyes. They were genuine tears. I know they were. They weren't part of some act she was trying to fool me with, they were real. She's not sure if they'll try to implant it in someone else or if they're just going to use it for study.   
  
It makes me mad. It's like the Official was waiting for that chance.   
  
Thirty-five year old. What a waste.  
  
_____________________________  
  
I'm sitting in a bar that me and Fawkes used to come to every once in a while. We'd talk about our last assignment or just life in general. We had some good conversations in here. I remember this one time we got on the subject of high school. He told me about this time he threw up in biology while they were dissecting pigs. "The minute I cut that thing open I knew I was gonna puke," he told me,"I got to that restroom in record time."   
  
I'd tell him old combat stories and he'd talk about his exploits as a thief. I'm going to miss those conversations. A lot.   
  
I used to rag on him about his past sometimes, but I was just giving him a hard time. I hope he knew I was only joking.   
  
The moon is shining bright outside on the wet pavement. There's quiet chatter all around me. I'm going to finish this last beer and then head home for another sleepless night.   
  
Here's to you, Fawkes.  
  
~The End~  
  



End file.
